Find A Way To Fix It
by drakontion
Summary: Catching up on old works. This one was made for a Valentine's day Sugar and Spice gift fic a while back.


Kirkwall was far distant and yet they could still see the haze, still smell the stench of its burning on the air - a peculiar compound of scorched dust and burnt rock overlaid with the unpleasant scent of corrupted lyrium.

Hawke pushed through the leafy undergrowth cautiously, wrinkling her nose in an attempt to not sneeze. Sneezing would be bad, right now. She had not long caught sight of a cabin nestled amongst the hills and had forged on ahead to check it out, leaving Anders behind, hidden from view of the road. She didn't usually like to go on her own, but she had a couple of reasons to be alone right now. Firstly because she was still angry at Anders, dammit, for what he'd done, and secondly because he had an unfortunate tendency to step on sticks, loudly, or blunder straight into ambush attempts, because he was too distracted to avoid them. Which frustrated her no end, especially since she seemed to be the one bearing the brunt of these fights. They were long out of healing poultices and their stocks of potions were dwindling alarmingly fast, mana potions being conserved for only the direst needs. They were just lucky that Anders was such a good healer, used to making do with limited resources from his time at the clinic.

Crouching, Hawke worked her way under a low-hanging branch, cursing under her breath when her vambrace snagged on a twig. The sooner she could get rid of this armour, the better. It was impressive, yes, but not at all suited to a desperate flight through the wilderness and was far too distinctive to boot. She struggled with the twig, which had somehow driven itself into the soft flesh of her inner arm, and then froze as she felt the cold sharpness of a blade pressed against her throat.

"I would advise," said an accented and somehow familiar voice, "that you do not move too much, my dear Champion. I do not wish to cut your pretty throat."

Hawke swallowed gingerly. "Well if that's the case," she retorted, "perhaps you should just remove your dagger, that way we won't have any issues."

There was an amused chuckle from behind her. Where _had_ she heard that voice before? "I'm afraid your reputation precedes you, Champion. You're a dangerous woman. I couldn't possibly let down my guard."

Hawke closed her eyes. All this running, to be caught on the end of a stranger's dagger in the middle of nowhere. Her shoulders slumped. "Fine," she sighed. "I'm sick of living rough anyway. Take me off to wherever you're going to take me." She turned her head aside, carefully. "Maybe at least that way I can have a bath," she muttered.

"Tsk, tsk," admonished the voice. "That is not the Champion I remember. She would have fought to the bitter end, not given up at the first sign of the blade of a handsome and dashing former assassin such as myself."

"Would you _please_," Hawke began acerbically, "stop calling me Champion... wait. Former assassin? Zevran? Is that you?"

He laughed and the weapon was removed from her throat. "In the flesh, my dear Champion. And surprised to see you taken so easily. I have to admit, I was looking forward to at least a small struggle." He emerged from a patch of shadow to her side - one which, she remembered with chagrin, she hadn't bothered to search as she went past - and sheathed his weapon, looking at her amusedly.

"Zevran, you bastard, you took years off me. I thought the Seekers had found us." Hawke raised a hand to her throat and looked at her fingertips, which had just the slightest tinge of red to them.

"Ah, I am sorry. Allow me to kiss it better for you?"

"Thank you, but I think you've done enough for one day. This at least I can pass off as a scratch to.." Catching herself, Hawke stopped and pressed her lips shut firmly, flushing just a little.

Zevran looked at her inquisitively. "To?" he queried. Hawke shook her head and he frowned. "Come now. I am not about to harm you. I have no love for the Chantry and her zealots."

She considered him carefully, trying to read his impassive face, then gave up. Maker knew she could use someone else to help her shoulder her burdens right now.

"It's Anders," she sighed. "I left him back there," she jerked her head in the direction of the road "while I scouted out that cabin over there. Unsuccessfully, as it turned out."

"Mmm. I think, perhaps, that city life has started to make you a little soft, no? But! All is not lost. The cabin is mine. You are welcome to join me there."

"Yours?" She eyed him sceptically. "Since when were you a homeowner, Zevran?"

He regarded her with a mournful glint in his large, expressive eyes. "Ah, always you think the worst of poor Zevran. You wound me, Champion. I am slain. Slain!" He clutched his heart dramatically and she snorted, face muscles protesting at what seemed the first time she'd smiled since...

"Oh, Maker, Anders. I'd better go back and get him before he calls up a bunch of templars or blows something else up or... something."

Zevran studied her thoughtfully, silent for a moment. "Bring him here," he said gravely. "There is room for you both. I'll build up the fire."

Hawke nodded and smiled. "Thank you, Zevran." He inclined his head and she turned around and headed back to the road, feeling his gaze upon her back.

Anders, as it turned out, was safe and whole in his hiding spot and not best pleased at her news, though admittedly it was difficult to tell lately as he seemed to have acquired a permanent scowl. She ushered him through the bushes while he grumbled incessantly about the terrain, the templars, random sticks that poked him in tender places, and her predilection for picking up pretty elves wherever she went. Hawke kept her mouth tightly shut and led him onwards, though more than once she caught herself wishing that he'd just shut up. The pang of sorrow she felt at that wish made her stumble. She missed the old Anders more and more each day, and had no idea how to get him back.

Eventually though, the cabin came into view, and she perked up. Smoke puffed from a rough stone chimney and she could smell something deliciously meaty on the air. Her mouth watered instantly. Even Anders momentarily lost his frown, though it reappeared when Zevran came into view, opening the front door for them. He smiled at them both neutrally.

"Welcome to my humble abode, such as it is," Zevran said.

"Nice place," muttered Anders.

Zevran looked around proprietarily. "Yes, well, I _acquired_ it, shall we say, from someone who had no more need of it." He smiled at Hawke with more warmth and she felt Anders tense beside her. "I have water heating for you, my dear Champion, just inside. Go on, now," and he shooed her towards the open door.

She stared at him. "You have a bath?" she asked incredulously.

He grinned. "I do indeed, and it is all yours. Go on now. Go!"

Hawke didn't need to be told again. She fairly flew past Zevran, stopping only briefly to plant a quick kiss on his lips as she passed, then closed the door firmly behind her and surveyed the interior of the cabin.

It looked to be some sort of nobles' charmingly rusting hunting lodge. The interior was well appointed and the crudeness she'd noted before was strictly for aesthetic purposes only. The large fire was blazing, there was bread and cheese on a wooden table and a pot of something savoury bubbling on the hob, but she had eyes only for a large metal tub in the middle of the floor.

Stumbling in her haste, Hawke stripped out of her armour, leaving it lying carelessly where it dropped, and sank into the tub, groaning. Sheer bliss!

Outside, Anders and Zevran eyed each other, and then Zevran smiled disarmingly. "Come. She will be a while, I think. Let us sit."

Anders grunted but did as he was bade. They sat side by side on rough log stools in the shade of the cabin, looking out over the hills, and were silent for a moment. There was a faint splashing from inside and Zevran chuckled. "Ah, women and their baths. I swear you could change the course of history with a well timed bath. Imagine distracting Andraste with a tub full of bubbles!"

Anders blinked and considered it for a moment. He wondered, not for the first time, how much of a looker Andraste would be, naked and wet and soapy, then firmly put the thought from his mind as there was a familiar stirring of disapproval within him. He looked up to see Zevran watching him. "What?" he snapped.

Zevran blinked slowly. "I had heard the stories, of what had happened," he said bluntly. "I will admit I was surprised to see you both here, though. I thought you would have returned to Ferelden."

"No," said Anders shortly. "Neither of us wished to burden the King with my cause. He is in a difficult enough position as it is."

"Ah. Then, if I may ask, where are you going?"

Anders looked at him suspiciously. "Why do you want to know?"

"I am merely making conversation. If you do not wish to tell me, do not. I would think, though, that it is a little late for not trusting me. At this range, I can move faster than your magic can react." He said it calmly, simply stating a fact, and Anders was forced to agree. He'd seen the rogue move, before; he was blindingly quick and utterly graceful.

"Tevinter," he eventually replied, over Justices' internal protests.

"Ah. Probably a good choice. For you. For the Champion though... probably not so much."

"What do you mean?" Anders asked defensively.

Zevran blinked and caught his eyes. "I think you know exactly what I mean, Anders."

Anders flushed and looked out to the horizon, avoiding his gaze. They were silent for a long moment while the shadows shifted imperceptibly around them.

Eventually Zevran cleared his throat. "You are treating her abominably, you know."

"What?"

"You heard what I said."

Anders hunched over a little. "I am not."

Zevran smiled, a little sadly. "Yes, you are. You are being selfish. She is your love, yes? You are supposed to treat her with care and tenderness, not ignore her needs and wishes in favour of your own causes."

"She knew about my cause," Anders muttered. "I have never lied about that to her."

"Maybe not. But still you have dragged her along with you and she is not even a mage to be involved in it."

"Everyone is involved in it!" Anders retorted hotly. "No one can choose to be apart from the plight of mages any more!"

Zevran held up a hand, halting him. "Shush. For what it is worth, I agree, to an extent. Everyone should have the chance to be free. Still. That does not change that you are mistreating the Champion and squandering her love. You do still love her, no?"

"Of course!"

"Then why do you not act on that love? Not everything has to be all doom and gloom, you know. Love is what makes the world bearable."

Anders scowled. "And what would you know about love, assassin?"

Zevran sighed, and looked up at the sky. "I have loved. I still love. I know what it is like to be consumed by something greater than yourself, to be so caught up in large events so that you forget the smaller things around you. I know what it is like to miss the little, joyous things that give meaning to life when you are struggling for something huge." He leaned closer and put a hand on Anders' leg, lightly. "You should not miss these things. You will always regret them, if you do. And the regret, it will consume you if you let it."

Anders looked down at the elf's tanned hand on his leg and swallowed. "Ah..."

Zevran chuckled. "Have I taken you by surprise? I thought you were not unfamiliar with a broader outlook on love?"

"No! I mean, yes! I mean, Maker's ass. Why?"

"Why not?" Zevran shrugged. "I like you both. I consider you friends. One should help out their friends."

"Does helping out for you usually involve putting the moves on a taken man?"

Zevran threw his head back and laughed uproariously. "Ah, Anders. 'Putting the moves', indeed." He took his hand back to wipe at his eyes, and Anders found himself missing it. It seemed an age since Hawke had touched him... or since he'd touched Hawke. Guilt crept over him.

"And as for _taken_," Zevran continued, "well, I am not asking for a commitment. Merely a sharing. A small moment of togetherness." He paused and leaned forward. "For you both, if you desire."

Anders felt an intense surge of jealousy. "Both?"

Zevran grinned wickedly. "Ah, so you are fine if it is just you, but not for your dear Hawke, hmmm? Does that not seem selfish to you?"

Put that way... Anders shrugged, embarrassed, and Zevran chuckled. "Just so. Now tell me. What do you think. What do you say to this?"

"I..." Anders halted, closing his eyes and remembering intimate moments with Hawke: in their bedroom at her estate, at the Hanged Man, on the Wounded Coast. He remembered her happy and laughing and loving and wondered when he last saw her like that. "If she says yes, then yes," he whispered.

"Good," said Zevran with satisfaction. "Now in the meantime..."

And then Anders felt Zevran's lips upon his, just his lips, but scorching with fire and an intensity he remembered from years ago. His lips were firm and male, wholly unlike Hawke's soft and delicate mouth, and yet just as irresistible. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to be with a man, he'd been with Hawke for so long. He'd not regretted being with her, not at all, but even so sometimes he still missed what he didn't have... Anders' mouth opened under Zevran's ministrations and he tasted his tongue. Holy Maker, Zevran was skilled! He groaned, and Zevran chuckled and pulled away.

"There. A taste. Now go speak to your Champion."

Anders blinked, bewilderedly. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"But Hawke... I can't believe I'm even considering this!"

"Anders. You wish your Champion to be happy, yes? Her sadness upsets you. And you wish to be happy too, do you not? This is..." Zevran shrugged "...consider it a small amount of happiness when the world is sad around you. A little pleasure never hurt anyone, no?"

"I guess not," Anders replied dubiously.

Zevran placed his hand on Ander's cheek and turned his face to look in his eye. "You do not have to do it if you do not want to. But I think you do, hmm? And I think she will too."

"But..."

Zevran's voice and face hardened. "Anders, mark my words. If you do not fix this you will lose her. She will leave you, and you will be left alone with your cause, and I do not think that that will be either warm or comforting at night, do you? Now go."

"Yes... of course..." said Anders faintly, and stumbled to the door. Lose her? He couldn't...

Inside, Hawke was still in her bath. He could see her hair spilling out over the edges of the tub. "Hawke?" he said, wondering if she'd fallen asleep.

"Mmm?" she replied dreamily.

He moved around and kneeled down beside her, gazing down as she lay in the water, breasts buoyant and bobbing. He swallowed. "Ah..."

She looked up at him, and raised an eyebrow. "Anders, are you blushing?"

"I... no. Hawke..."

She gazed up at him expectantly and he hesitated.

Hawke frowned. "What is it, Anders? Is something wrong?"

He shook his head. "No.. it's just... Oh, Maker take it!"

And she blinked as he swiftly leaned forward and kissed her, gently at first as she froze, but deepening as she reacted. He sank into the familiar comfort of her mouth even as he realised she had been surprised by the kiss. He lingered, then reluctantly pulled away. "I missed you," she whispered as their lips parted.

Anders suddenly hated himself a little bit. Zevran was right. He _was_ selfish, dreadfully so. He berated himself for the opportunities missed: all those touches, all those kisses, gone forever. Hawke cupped his cheek in a wet hand, directly on top of the spot where Zevran had laid his hand, and he shivered. It was a gesture he'd always loved from her, but now all he could imagine was how it would feel to have both of their hands on him at once. How it would look to have both their bodies against his, naked, the contrast of skin against skin. How it would taste to have both their mouths against his, lips parted and tongues intertwined... and then imagined watching the pair of them kissing, touching, tasting. He imagined Hawke's lithe body pressed between them both, reaching over her to kiss Zevran, the push and pull and heat of three bodies intertwined, and fairly groaned at the thought.

He cleared his throat, and she smiled up at him lovingly.

"Love, there's something we should talk about..."


End file.
